Pink
by jamdropsmarblecakes
Summary: The age gap between the two of them was never a big deal.
1. Chapter 1

**There's been a lot of talk on Tumblr recently about Smiggle and their age gap.**

**My boyfriend and I are a few years apart and it got me thinking. **

**This is a near-verbatim exchange where I traded the two us for the two of them.**

* * *

Yeah.

People gave them funny looks sometimes.

But most of the time, it was just a generally accepted thing.

Felicity Smoak and John Diggle.

* * *

The tiny blonde half of this equation smiled to herself as she pushed through the coffee shop door.

"Smoak," came the sharp call.

She turned to the table set near the window seat.

There he was.

"John," she smiled, weaving through a few occupied tables to reach him.

She found it odd that she didn't call him Diggle anymore. It had been the same with a few of her college boyfriends. Any nickname they had was traded for the first name as soon as the first date was over.

Leaning down with a hand placed gently on his shoulder, she kissed him softly on his lips before pecking his forehead.

John pulled a chair around close to him and she sat, their thighs and shoulders trading warmth.

The fitted lilac shirt he was wearing left little to the imagination, but imagine she did. He didn't have the body of boy, a boy who spent all his time in front of mirrors at the gym. Rather, he had the body of man, a man who got his body from the work he did. Soft in the right places, muscular where he needed to be. She could detail just about every inch of his body. They had a hotel booked in Coast City for the night and Felicity was squirming with excitement, blushing from head to toe at where her mind went with these thoughts.

"You right?" John raised his eyebrows, the hand on the back of her chair came to that sensitive spot on her side.

"Mmhmm," she grinned, scrunching her nose up.

"It's just," he returned the grin and leant in so his lips touched her ear, "you've gone as pink as that pair of underwear I tore off you last weekend."

"John!" she squealed, arms flailing, nearly sending a waitress, and the coffees she carried, flying.

Everybody in the café turned to stare at them.

Felicity cleared her throat, straightened her glasses and sipped the coffee that John had waiting for her.

* * *

John couldn't help himself as he took in the charming pink that graced Felicity's features. Her eyes watered from trying to hold in her laugh. A laugh, once it started, would never stop.

Her tongue flicked out to catch the crema from her coffee on her lips and John's hand became firmer against her side, pulling her closer.

He kissed the side of her head, still smiling to himself.

John caught the eye of Lara, a waitress who the two were on a first name basis with.

She nodded, offering a little wave from behind the counter.

People were always a little thrown when they found out the age difference between the two of them. They would always laugh it off. It was one of Felicity's favourite things to do.

_"When you were starting middle school, I was still eating baby food."_

Or.

_"When you graduated recruit school, I was in the third grade."_

But really, they were on the exact same level.

Felicity surprised him in the first months of their relationship. At times, she was loving and romantic with dinners and wine and little gifts, but other times, he found himself asking her to slow down.

She would slow down, momentarily, but would then demand that he pick up the pace. That he may think he was fit, but he was most certainly not bedroom fit and that he'd want to lift his game if she didn't want her to leave him for a younger man.

This was then followed by a breathless, girly giggle that escaped her bruised lips. He'd swallow the sound, flipping her underneath him easily, his broad shoulders shadowing her from the light through the window.

Felicity was, in the most clichéd of terms, a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a mystery wearing panda flats.

She always grinned cheekily at him when her friends nudged her in the ribs, joking about how he must be teaching her lots.

Because, really, John was a very straight-forward, missionary style man when it came to bedroom antics. It wasn't for lack of experience by any means, just more what worked for him.

That was until Felicity had showed up at his apartment one night with a mouth-droppingly thick book of karma sutra and very little under her pea coat.


	2. Chapter 2

**It's not much but I was in the mood for some John and Felicity goodness.**

* * *

"John!" Felicity's shriek came from the computer set up.

Both John and Oliver paused their hand to hand combat training, Oliver raising an eyebrow in a silent question of "dude, what have you done?"

John shrugged.

If he were honest, it probably had something to do with the fact that he'd checked his emails and done a quick catch up on news that was not always on their radar.

Probably.

"Oliver!"

"Whatever it was, I didn't do it!" he held his hands up in a gesture of innocence.

Felicity's heels click-clacked across the concrete floor and she came in to view.

Diggle, slightly distracted by Felicity's legs in the dress she was wearing, was oblivious to the way that her eyebrows were drawn together.

"What did you do to my computer?" her hands were on her hips and she glared at him. She was trying not to smile, he could tell, but her feigning anger made him laugh.

"Dig," Oliver chided.

"Every time, John, every time you touch my computer, I spend the next half an hour trying to fix crashes, locked systems, data loses, jammed drives, bizarre re-configurations and things stuck in the keyboard!"

"The cracker crumbs were mine," Oliver raised a guilty hand in the air.

"No food, no drink, no you or you near my computers!"

Felicity wasn't one to hold a grudge, but she refused to talk to either of her team mates for the rest of the night. Diggle went and got Big Belly Burger and, like feeding a wild animal, placed Felicity's bag of food on the table and backed away slowly. She steadfastly refused to look at him and only glanced at the bag. But when John peered around the corner to check on her twenty minutes later, the paper bag was screwed up in a ball in the bin and her large cup of soda sat in its own condensation on the computer table.

He watched her trying to inconspicuously pick things out of her teeth with one hand as she scrolled through police reports with the other.

John slowly walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, massaging them gently and eliciting an involuntary moan from Felicity as she tipped her head back, eyes closed.

"Hey," he whispered, leaning in to kiss her upside down.

"Hey," she replied, breaking away from the kiss.

"How you going?"

"Don't think I've forgiven you for messing with my babies!" she squirmed out from under his firm grip and spun around in her chair.

"Felicity," he stood up straight and folded his arms.

"John, I'm trying to get work done," she explained. He could tell that this confrontation made her uneasy.

"I know," he soothed.

"I'm not sorry," she mimicked his stance and folded her arms, drawing his attention to her cleavage.

Managing to tear his eyes away, he looked up to see a huge shit eating grin gracing her face.

"What was it that I told Oliver ages ago? Anyone with boobs can get a frat boy to do anything."

"I was never a frat boy, Felicity."

"Still," she argued, "boobs, they distracted you."

"You staying at mine tonight?" he raised a suggestive eyebrow.

"If you stay away from my computers, it's always you that crashes them! I have far better things to be doing than-"

John kissed her and turned to walk away.

Once he was sure he was out of her throwing range, he turned around, grinning from ear to ear.

Felicity raised her eyebrow at him, daring him to say something.

"It must just be some curious statistical anomaly."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello! Procrastination is a fic writers best friend. Favourites and follows are lovely, but reviews are MORE than welcome!**

**I think this particular story will have two or three parts.**

* * *

"Oh god," Felicity pulled her cardigan off and scrunched it up, pressing it to John's neck.

"Sit him up, sit him up, sit him up," Oliver rushed, jostling him into a sitting position.

Diggle's head lolled back and then forward as Oliver dragged him the closest wall, propping him up against it while he checked him for anymore wounds.

"Don't press to hard, you'll cut the blood supply to his brain," Oliver whispered, a supportive hand going to Felicity's shoulder.

"Oh, right," she replied, as if this conversation was the most normal thing in the world.

She eased her left hand off a bit, cupping John's grey face with her right.

"Babe," she whispered, running a thumb along his eyebrow.

"I'm going to go and get the car, there's some medical supplies in it, I won't be long," Oliver assured her, once he had assured himself that neither of his partners had anymore life threatening wounds.

"He needs a hospital, Oliver," Felicity demanded.

"We can't do that, bullets make people ask questions, they'll match it to a SCPD officers gun, and then the questions will get a lot trickier," he explained.

"But," Felicity sniffed, her eyes falling back to Diggle.

"It's okay, I'm gonna call someone."

"Who?"

"A friend."

"He's going to die, Oliver."

"Felicity," Oliver squatted down, "He's not. I promise. Do you trust me?"

"Mhmm, yeah," Felicity wiped her nose on the back of her hand, watching Oliver get up and hurry away.

"Keep him sitting up, if he comes to, keep him talking, he's breathing okay right now, so just keep an eye on that, and Felicity," Oliver stopped and turned back, "Don't panic, it's under control."

Oliver's hurried footfalls disappeared and she shifted positions, feet either side of Diggle's legs, squatting ungracefully. Her cardigan was almost soaked through and she wished Oliver would hurry.

"John," she cooed, "Diggle?"

There was no response from the man and the panic rose in her chest.

"John Diggle!" she almost yelled, "You open your eyes right now!"

There was a groan and Diggle's dark eyes half opened.

"John?" she whispered.

"F'licity," he slurred.

"We're going to patch you up, you'll be fine, I promise, Oliver promised," she nodded.

"How bad is it?" he asked, a little more coherent.

Felicity broke eye contact and glanced at her hand. Blood was pouring down her arm, down John's neck.

"It's, um, it's not good, John," she sobbed.

He nodded, a hand coming up to steady her when she teetered slightly. He touched a hand to her face, making her look at him.

"Ssh," he soothed, "it's okay."

"You shouldn't be comforting me, I should be comforting you," she blubbered.

"It doesn't hurt, Smoak, I'm not in any pain."

"Don't say that," she shook her head vehemently.

"Don't cry, beautiful girl," his eyes started closing again. She shook him gently and his eyes opened briefly.

"John, please."

"Ssh," his hushing was almost inaudible, "It's fine."

And his eyes closed and didn't open again.

"John?" she put an ear to his mouth and almost screamed with relief when she could feel his hot breath on the side of her face.

The town car screeched to a halt not far from where Felicity sat, still and detached.

"Felicity!" Oliver yelled, scrambling from the car, nursing his own injured arm.

She didn't move, muttering indecipherable words to herself.

"Felicity, come on," he crouched next to her, "I need you to stand up when I lift him."

She was stroking John's face, her pink cardigan now a deep crimson, the air pungent with a metallic, brassy smell.

"Felicity!" he shouted, shaking her, "he's still alive, I need your help!"


	4. Chapter 4

**To the guest that told me I couldn't end a story like that, I had no intention of ever doing so. I said at the start of the last chapter that this Diggle/Felicity moment would arch over two or three updates. I am a little bit weird in that I like all my updates for one particular story to be roughly the same length. In this case, it's between 600-700 words-ish. I felt that I couldn't fully 'investigate' _(sounds a bit pompous) _this story in just one update of a mere 700 words. Please bear with me. Here is update 2 of 3.**

**To everyone else who left reviews and followed/favourited, thank you. I get that this isn't Olicity and therefore nowhere near as appealing, but I appreciate you following along. You're the best.**

* * *

Felicity sat up against the wall near the bathroom. Oliver and Barry gently lowered Diggle so that he was leaning up against.

"I've secured the padding on his neck wound but I'd advise you to apply some pressure, it'll help with the clotting process," Barry was busy inserting a cannula into the crease of Diggle's elbow. He hooked up a bag of blood and gaffa taped it to the wall above them.

"He can't die, Barry," Felicity declared, sternly holding Barry's gaze.

"He won't," Barry replied as convincingly as he could manage.

"Thank you, Barry, thank you for coming," she touched his leg from where she sat.

He nodded. "Yeah, not a problem."

A moan from Diggle had them all paying close attention.

"John," Barry squatted down in front of him, "this wound is a little trickier than I imagined it would be, I'm going to consult with a doctor friend of mine in Central City and then we'll patch you up."

"Who?" Diggle's head lolled around and Oliver helped Felicity hold it still.

"Um, I'm Barry, Barry Allen, so just sit tight," his voice wavered nervously.

"F'l'c'ty," his tongue flicked out to wet his lips, "Where'she?"

"Here," she whispered in his ear, placing a kiss to his cheek.

"Oliver, where'she?" he was getting agitated.

"John, I'm here," she soothed, her spare hand rubbing his side, from under his arm, all the way down to his hip, a gesture she had hoped he'd recognize.

"F'l'c'ty!" he shouted coarsely.

Felicity's lip quivered and John tried to thrash out of her grasp.

"Don't let him tear the blood line out," Barry called over the top of the commotion.

Oliver was trying to contain Diggle's flailing arms, while Felicity did her best to maintain pressure on his wound. Oliver made a gesture at Barry, who came over with a needle full of something.

"This could kill him if you give it to him," Barry warned.

"He's going to kill himself jostling around like this," Oliver spat back.

Barry managed to get a grip on Diggle's wrist and jab the sedative into his forearm, he rubbed the injection site lightly with his thumb after.

As Diggle settled, Felicity's whimpers grew louder. Both men looked at her.

"Can you," she gestured for Oliver to take her place, "Please, I, Oliver, please."

She pushed John forward lightly and stood up, holding Diggle in place until Oliver slipped in behind him. Diggle was still alert enough to sense the change and he reached blindly for Felicity as she stepped away, his hand brushing her thigh, his eyes slow to catch up with the movement.

"Felicity," he all but mouthed as his eyelids drooped and he relaxed in Oliver's arms.

She ran up the stairs and outside, bending over with her hands on her knees, sobbing violently once she come to a stop. She was covered in blood and she wiped her hands furiously on her jeans to no avail.

"Felicity, Felicity," Barry's voice called to her, "Stop!"

His hands grabbed hers and she froze.

"I know that you and Diggle are seeing each other, and that it's pretty serious, I don't need to hear about that because I know how professional and private you are," he nodded, not breaking eye contact, still with a gentle hold of her arms, "now, I know this is difficult and I feel for you, believe me, I do, but right now, you need to keep it together for him."

Felicity sobbed, her hands shaking.

"But he's in a lot of trouble, Barry, he can't die, it's really bad and I don't know how much more I can take of it, you've got to save him, please," her voice grew higher pitched, more desperate and whimper filled, with each word.

Barry hugged her to his chest, his chin resting on her head.

"Come on," he encouraged, "my friend from Central City is on hold down there, she's going to talk us through saving Diggle, I'm gonna need your help."

"Okay," Felicity replied, her nose blocked and face blotchy.

"BARRY!" they both heard Oliver call from the bottom of the stairs. "He's having trouble breathing!"


	5. Chapter 5

**So this'll be the final installment in this particular story line but I will more than likely get to writing some more little pieces involving this underrepresented couple.**

**As always, reviews are welcome with open arms.**

* * *

They were greeted by John's wheezing, shallow breaths and Oliver's panicked encouragement for him to 'just keep breathing'.

"Herbs?" Felicity asked, holding his head upright, hoping to keep his airways as open as possible.

"No good if he's not conscious enough to drink them," Oliver shook his head.

"John, come on, my love, come on," Felicity insisted, searching his face.

Barry was a few meters away, his phone to his ear, nodding every few seconds in silent recognition of whatever the other person was saying.

After a few more minutes, he hung up and Oliver and Felicity looked at him expectantly.

"We can try, it'll be tough, but I think we can do it," he nodded.

"Alright," Oliver removed himself from behind Diggle, leaving Felicity to keep him upright, "Tell me what you need."

While the two men prepped a table and all the instruments they'd need, Felicity sat with John, holding his large, limp hand in hers. She stroked his face, rubbed his arm and, occasionally, simply rested her hand on his chest, feeling the faltering rise and fall of it.

She couldn't lose him. Refused to, in fact.

"John, I swear to god, if you die on me, I'll kill you," she whispered.

"Doesn't make sense," he replied and, despite his failing body, Felicity could hear the teasing tone.

"Oh, John!" she sobbed.

"Ssh, baby girl," he lifted a hand and placed it clumsily on hers.

He leaned heavily into her and Felicity felt the panic rise in her chest.

"Alright, Felicity," Oliver motioned for her to get out of the way.

With a chorus of grunts, they managed to get Diggle on to the table and they went at it, uncompromising, for over five hours.

The success of their efforts would eventually be rewarded. Three days after he was shot, John was conscious enough to hold a conversation. He was no longer dancing on the edge of cognizance, his eyes stayed focused instead of rolling around in his head, the grey color that graced his face was slowly being replaced.

Felicity, beside herself with lack of sleep, worry and general anxiety could do nothing but cry and laugh into his chest, shaking hands running all over him.

Oliver patted Barry on the back, just as he had done as the young CSI had put the last stitch in Diggle's neck.

"You did good, kid," he assured him.

Barry nodded, "I'm just glad he's okay, for her."

The two men watched as Felicity placed a tender kiss on Diggle's lips, before carefully sitting on the table next to him, where he laid slightly propped up by pillow. They exchanged quiet words, loving touches, small smiles.

Nobody had left the lair for three days, save Oliver's one trip up to the bar to grab a bottle of whiskey. Barry had to leave for Central City but promised to be back in a few hours to check in, Oliver needed to go and check on things at home, but for Felicity, everything she needed was right in front of her.

"Never do that again," Felicity smacked him lightly on the arm, before taking one hand in hers.

"Can't promise anything," he shrugged.

"I'm glad you're alive."

John laughed, then winced, "Me too, Smoak, me too."

She kissed the inside of his wrist.

"So," he started, and gingerly turned his head, "how's it look?"

"Like a caterpillar is sat on your neck," Felicity scrunched her nose up.

"Oh good," Diggle sighed, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"A cute caterpillar?" Felicity offered.

"Yeah?"

"I dig it," she grinned, and John, despite being a little airy-fairy on pethidine understood the pun and smiled back.

"You're an idiot," he scoffed.


End file.
